


Petals and Ink

by aika_max



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aika_max/pseuds/aika_max
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo's florist shop and Henry's tattoo parlor are neighbors in the same strip mall.  As he prepares to write Abigail's name into his skin one more time, she brings him some misdelivered mail and offers an invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petals and Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sign Your Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263324) by [aika_max](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aika_max/pseuds/aika_max). 



> This is a personal writing challenge after idelthoughts posted some advice from Chuck Palahniuk to "unpack your verbs" and eliminate verbs of knowing. Basically, showing not telling. So I challenged Forever fandom to do that to one of their own fics. This is an unpacked verbs remix of my own story. The dialogue should still be the same.

Henry Morgan glanced at the mirror and then moved it away with his left hand. His right hand held the tattoo machine poised over his chest. His hair was still wet from his unexpected swim in the river, and after every death his skin was made brand new as if there had never been a single tattoo on it. But there were always tattoos. Always. After he met her, one of them became her name. It was sweet and stupid, and Abigail the nurse chastised him with a smile on her face that it was somewhat unsanitary.

He rewrote her name into his skin after every death. He pretended to have lost count of how many total deaths he’d had, but he marked them all on his calendar. Then he would mark his skin, and Henry could do it so well he didn’t have to look any more. It was muscle memory now. That was all the memory he had since Abigail herself was no longer with him.

He took a meditative breath before beginning, and the bell at the front of the shop sounded that someone had entered. Henry put down the tattoo machine with a mild expletive. He really should have locked the door after he returned from the water.

“Henry, it’s just me. I got some of your mail again.” The voice was that of his neighbor Jo Martinez.

“I’m in the back, Jo!” he yelled out to her. At least it was her instead of a customer come early. He wasn’t physically or emotionally ready for that.

The woman walked back to his work room wearing a smock with the too clever for itself name of Petal Pushers on it. Henry smiled and shook his head when he saw her. 

Jo’s florist shop and Henry’s tattoo parlor shared the same strip mall, so it wasn’t the first time one of them had walked misdelivered mail over to the other. They had spoken often enough that she had given him secret smiles that he could almost recognize as the first stage of flirting.

Jo scrunched her face at the sight of Henry who was both shirtless and free of any tattoos on his visible skin.

“You always told me your tattoos were under your clothes, but unless they’re on your legs, I don’t see any.” She mimed the act of looking him up and down and all around.

“What if they’re not on my legs?” he asked in unspoken challenge, opening his naked torso and fabric covered legs for her inspection.

“Then I’d say you’re into a whole new level of pain than I am,” she replied before shaking herself from head to toe and groaning for good measure. 

After a beat, Jo added, “It just looks weird not to see you covered in tattoos when that’s what you do for a living. You’re like the chef who won’t eat his own food. It’s…”

“Distasteful?” he offered with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Untrustworthy,” she said slowly. “Anyhow, here’s your mail.”

Henry stood up to take the mail from her hands. Jo waited silently as he looked at the different envelopes. Then she asked, “Would you ever like to get some coffee with me sometime? No pressure. Just coffee.”

His head snapped up, and Henry’s eyes focused on hers in a way they hadn’t done before. Maybe he had been right and those smiles had been flirting. Jo was a beautiful woman with defined cheekbones and lips that looked like they really deserved to be kissed. Her beauty was different than Abigail’s. Not better or worse, just different.

Abigail wasn’t coming back. No matter how many deaths and how many times he rewrote her name into his skin, Abigail was gone. Perhaps it was time to try something new. It was only coffee, after all.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he told her.

“Great! I’ll see you. I have to get back to my store before Lucas fumbles everything,” she said as she thumbed in the direction of her shop.

“Bye, Jo,” he said.

Martinez walked out of his shop, and Henry picked up the tattoo machine. Then he flexed his fingers and set it down again. This time, he wouldn’t write Abigail’s name. 

Henry got off his workbench, taking his button down shirt with him. He stood in front of her photo as he dressed himself. He had died and died many times, and none of those deaths had erased the real tattoo Abigail had left on his soul, the part no one could ever see.

He could try something new. Coffee with Jo would be a place to start. He verified her shop schedule that he had tacked to his information board alongside his own. They both had Tuesday evenings off. He would suggest that to her next time he saw her.


End file.
